Frozen
by Bette0Porter
Summary: This Tibette story takes place six years after their second break-up. Bette, who's been living in NY since then, joins Tina and their friends in a cabin, in then northern part of LA, where they're going to spend the week-end... when a freak snowstorm hit them. Will they be able to soothe their inner-storms?
1. Chapter 1 - Prelude to a storm

The only sounds in the room were a low humming and a clink of flatware and plates. It was morning and Kit offered to make breakfast for all of us. In the background, I could hear the TV: the weatherman was announcing that a freak snowstorm was approaching Los Angeles and we'd better stay in if we didn't want to die from the cold. It was strange… a snowstorm in _L.A._? It didn't happen in years. For all I know, last time it did was in 1949. Since that storm, the Los Angeles weather station has recorder snow only six times – and not since 1962. As you may see, this was a rare event and we decided to enjoy every nuance of it.

Helena, two days before, invited all of us to her cabin. We were going to spend the weekend there, together (something we haven't been doing in a while). It was a _huge_one, situated in a forest, in the northern part of Los Angeles. She was sure it was already snowing there – and she was right – I will never forget the beautiful sight when we arrived. Everything was covered in snow. Last night's snowfall surely made a great job. There wasn't an uncovered bit. What made it more beautiful and charming, was the surroundings. There were trees all around the cabin and we could hear, in the distance, the sweet sound of the river running through the rocks. In addition to that, we could admire the magnificent view of the mountains, which seemed to embrace the whole forest. As Alice said, we were positive it was going to be 'one hell of a weekend', and it'd _been_ a hell of a weekend. O, hadn't it been! We didn't know about the snowstorm until we arrived at the cabin and I know for sure, that I won't forget the 2011 snowstorm. That's when everything took an unexpected turn for me – for _us._

I was sitting at the table, absently sipping some tea from my mug. The contrast of the warmth it released and the cold of my hands gave me a soothing feeling. I barely noticed my friends were chatting and chuckling, for I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts. The sound their mouths made was just a coming and going of some _blah, blah, blah's_ and laughters. I really couldn't make out the meanings of the words. My brain was trying to elaborate what Kit told me that morning: _she_was going to be there. S_he_happened to be in Los Angeles for business and was happy to spend some time with her friends. The _she_I'm talking about is her sister: Bette Porter. She moved to New York when we broke up six years ago. It was a hell of a break up, as I recall it. Thinking about it, I guess I made her run away and I couldn't blame her if she didn't want to have anything to do with me. After what I did to her, I guess that was the logical conclusion: being as far away from me as she could.

"Did you tell her I'm going too?" I asked Kit, earlier. The only thing she said was that her sister was okay with it. I wondered what she really meant by it. I couldn't help but hope she didn't care because she wanted to see me and was happy I was there too. However, I was wrong. She wanted me to be there so she could take her little revenge. I guess I deserved it.

Alice's voice, calling my name, stopped my thoughts.

"Hey, T! You seem far away, are you okay?"

"Uh? Yeah," I swallow the – by now – cold tea, "I'm okay" and smiled. I was so nervous I didn't know whether my tremor was dictated by the chill weather or by my fear. I have to admit it I was so freaking scared! Then, as if _my friend_ wanted to put some salt on the wound, she turned to Kit and started to speak about the only thing I didn't want to hear about.

"So, when is Bette coming?"

"She said she was going to be here by 2 p.m."

2 p.m. I glanced at the wall clock and learnt it was nine in the morning. The countdown started as soon as Kit told us when she was going to arrive. Five hours, and Bette and I would be facing one another after six years.

I can still remember how long those five hours seemed to me. It's like when you're sitting in class, during a really boring math lesson and you just can't wait to be out of there: totally excruciating. Or when you're home, sick, lying in bed. Time doesn't seem to want to go by and you are there, just looking around the room, waiting. Staring at the walls; not knowing what to do. They close in around you and it feels like suffocating. You just can't breathe… Five hours and I was going to face a completely new Bette. Something that totally broke my heart.

We spent almost two hours sitting at the table, in the kitchen. Alice did most of the chatting, as she always did. It was a rare thing to be together, all of us. It might sound strange but things changed a lot in these last six years. Now that I think about it, I guess everything started since Dana's death. It's as though the strong force that kept us together disappeared as soon as there was no more life left in our friend's body. Things have never been the same since. It's sad isn't it? They say you never know what tomorrow will bring. You're here today; still, you can't be sure you'll be tomorrow. Even so, life goes on. At least, this is what happened to my friends and me (even though _surviving_it's the best way to describe how I've been living in the past years). I couldn't say the same about Bette. That day I learnt that no matter whether your lungs are functioning or not, death can be with you nonetheless.

I glanced at the clock once again and I realized only a few minutes had passed. They seemed to last hours. Once we were finished with breakfast, we moved to the living room. I could hear Helena and Kit talking about the weather and the upcoming storm. The sky was starting to show its fury. The wind becoming stronger and the sound produced by its incessant blowing almost topped the soothing lullaby sang by the river. Despite I couldn't listen to it, I knew it was still flowing and, somehow, it unnerved me. I was envious it could go on no matter how scary the storm was going to be. It was running, and never looking back. It seemed so sure of itself; of the journey, it was taking. How many paths did I choose during the last six years? I've lost count. Each of them never brought me to the top of the mountain. They seemed to lead that way, at first, but once I was halfway, I would get lost and turned back, finding myself at the starting point. Only one of them seemed to be the right one – and I know it was – but I let it slide through my fingers and shattered it. Just like it happens when you're holding a clay bowl but you lose the grip and it falls down. Sometimes, the pieces are so tiny that even if you try your best at putting them back together, the effort it's almost pointless. They're not going to reacquire their previous shape. You would see the cracks… the more they are thick and visible, the more the damage is substantial and deep.

I sat on the windowsill, resting my forehead on the cold surface as I looked out. The view gave me the chills. The tall and skinny trees seemed to embrace one another, trying not to break, for the wind was flowing through them as if its purpose was to split them up. Just like the river, they weren't scared of the impact the tough weather was having on them. They fought it! Something Bette and I didn't manage to do, back then. We let '_the storm_' destroy everything. We gave it the possibility to eradicate our ideals so that everything we built could be swallowed by the endless force of its winds. _We_, unlike those trees, failed one another the exact moment we started letting go of each other. This brought me back to those clay scraps and I couldn't stop hoping they weren't too small and that, somehow, there was still a chance to fix the bowl and salvage its holy content. In addition to that, there was something else I won't forgive myself about: depriving Bette of something so fundamental to her. An act that, as I would learn that day, forged the new Bette I was going to meet.

My troubles were so loud I didn't realize the wind calmed down. It was just a feeble whistle and I couldn't have imagined that the apparent calm was just the prelude of a boisterous tempest – and the most forceful one was among _us_, ready to come down.

A gentle tap on my shoulder brought me back to reality, for the second time that morning. I was glad, though, for the interruption since the one who yielded me some kind of respite was the most important person in my life: Angelica. My face lit up as soon as I glanced into her beautiful and deep eyes. Every time I was with her I would cherished each second spent together. She was my flesh and blood; my own soul. My daughter. _Our_daughter. She should've been our daughter… Bette's and mine. That was our grand dream and I took it away from her. We used to spend hours – even days – planning our future together. We would think about silly things like going to the market together; bringing our children to the park and watching them play. Then something changed. After seven years together – and I have to clarify that I'd happily erase the last three – we drifted apart and all those dreams were just a mere and distant memory. My daughter looked at me and I was sure she knew something was bothering me. That little seven-years-old could read me as an open book. She climbed on my lap and rested her head on my chest. I thanked God for that. I could finally feel some peace. As I held her, I let my eyes take in the surroundings. I was still sitting on the windowsill, but my glare was now diverted from the view outside to the inside. It was a nice place. The room wasn't really big, but it was cozy; it contrasted the chilly sensation I could feel crossing my body just by looking outside. The yellow ochre walls gave an even warmer feeling. Paintings and pictures were placed following a particular pattern; even the doors seemed to be part of the ornaments. A touch of class was given by the classical English furniture.

The peace, however, didn't last long. Another dark cloud overran my mind, pulling me back to that fatal night of six years ago, when our deep despair began. A despair that had been our companion in the years that followed.

• • •

It was raining, that night, but the weather conditions were nothing compared to my inner turmoil. Bette just brought Angelica back to me. I spent three excruciating days without seeing her; without knowing anything about their whereabouts. I had been _this_close to lose it and kill myself, for the panic was too unbearable. I needed _my_baby. I kept telling myself: _she took my baby!_And I didn't realize, that day, I was doing just the same thing to Bette.

As soon as Angelica and I were reunited, I wouldn't let anyone touch her. Bette, as far as I was concerned, was the last of all people that could come close to her. I would cling onto my daughter each time she came closer. I made sure she couldn't touch her, or even look at her. Her sad eyes, her pleading voice: they did nothing. She kept asking me to forgive her. She said she did it out of fear, for she didn't want to lose _her_ daughter. And there I snapped and I said something I regretted from then on: "_She's not your daughter! I'm the only one who got that privilege._I _gave birth to her. You're nothing to her; she's nothing to you!"_O, how I wish I didn't utter those words.

I knew I had hurt her. For a few seconds I enjoyed it, but the look on her face… it was something I've never seen before. The look of pure, deep and bitter anguish. I could feel the agony clutching her soul. Her eyes, clouded by tears, fixed on _my_daughter and me, were asking for one more chance. Something that my too-much-beaten heart failed to give her, at that time. I couldn't bring myself to forgive her. She deprived me of my daughter for the longest three days of my life… something that brought me to doing, exactly, the same thing to her.

In the days that followed, Bette came to me, at Henry's (_the man__–_may I be damned_–_thatI was dating at the time) apartment, banging on the door, begging me to let her see Angelica. She'd been doing that for the next three months. Each time, I asked her not to show her face ever again. The last straw was when I told her I finally decided to let _the man_ adopt her.

I've never seen Bette since then.


	2. Chapter 2 - Cold Flames

The hours crept silently; the exact opposite thing my thoughts were doing: they kept roaming around my mind way too noisily.

During that excruciating waiting I learnt a lot about the _new_ Bette. Apparently, she became a huge figure in the art world: she opened two galleries. One in New York and the other one was in Europe; Rome for being precise. And she was thinking about opening another one. In Paris, maybe. Peggy helped her for she thought working as a curator at the Whitney wasn't really a good position for her. Her art knowledge should expand and reach overseas. In Peggy's opinion, her talent was too good to be wasted like that, within the US confines.

I was shocked to learn all of it from Helena as Bette and she never really got along, since what happened during our first break up. Not even Kit knew most of what the British woman told us. What stunned me the most, was the way she talked about her: it was in a worshipping kind of way. I could see her eyes shine as she spoke and the light coming from the fireplace gave them an even brighter look. I didn't know why but a wave of jealousy hit my body. Could have something happened between those two? Another brick added to my already-too-thick wall of thoughts.

As she went on and on talking about Bette's successes I could feel a stinging sensation building up in my gut. She knew a lot about the _new _Bette and she knew _too much. _Where she was living now: a huge penthouse nearby Central Park; when the new show was coming. She told us about her last exhibit and how greatly she did. She seemed as though she couldn't stop talking. I missed a lot about her. Hell,I missed _her_! And the sad thing was that I didn't have the right to feel that way. I drove her away. She was beaten; she was broken; she was falling right before my eyes and I stabbed her... a perfect, accurate stab into her heart.

Helena words seemed to show a stronger Bette; even more confident than the one I met, in 1997, at the Bette Porter Gallery. And I was pleased, at least, she managed to fix her own issues. Although, I didn't know that every bit - little piece by little piece - of the loving, passionate and caring Bette I knew was buried beneath an insurmountable mountain of sorrows.

The room was quiet now. I was alone, sitting on the couch and I was suddenly captivated by the tongues of fire coming from the fireplace, dancing before me. Their crackling was the only sound I could hear. Bette and I were like those flames. No matter what, we always kept reaching upward, trying to go as high as possible; moving together, fusing together. Occasionally, one of them could, momentarily get lost and disappear, tearing away from the other, but a new flame could immediately rise from another one and start dancing again. There was no start and no end... we started and we were supposed to never end.

We did end. A fire needs to be fed but we let it die of starvation. The flames became more and more small, until they stopped moving together, and, in the end, a heap of ashes took their place. The thin line of smoke was just the remembrance of something that once had been there and the darkness around it declared the end of it all. As a seaman, I blindly sailed the ocean; my lighthouse was out of sight.

A slight shift on the couch caught my attention. Kit was now sitting beside me and I could read a concerned expression on her face. She smiled sympathetically and took my right hand in hers.

"What's bothering you, baby girl?" she asked me. Those simple but heartfelt words brought tears in my eyes. I had hurt her sister and despite everything that happened she never, in any kind of way, treated me differently. She had been by my side, nonetheless, when our friends saw me as a traitor. She, somehow, understood I was not myself and tried to find the real Tina, who was hidden in some dark and forgotten place within me.

I shook my head and sighed "The guilt, Kit. The guilt is overwhelming me like a heavy burden, I can't breathe"

She might have said something to try to reassure me, but she nodded, instead, and kept silent. She just sat there, holding my hand. Her presence was enough to give me comfort. I was glad she wasn't talking for I was sure I wouldn't believe any word coming out her mouth. Not because I didn't want to, but the thought that she could be wrong and that I could possibly face a deep disappointment was killing me. At the same time, the guilt increased, as I wasn't worth such a charitable act: I deserved every bit of the hell I was living in.

I glanced at the clock for the nth time: it was fifteen minutes to two. The seconds hand was marching to the beat of my heart. It was like my life depended on it. The feeble _tic _mirrored the loud _thud _I could feel in my chest. I needed some air; I knew I was panicking. I scoffed at the irony of it all. The person who was once able to ease my panic attacks was now the cause of them.

• • •

I still remember how she would, with just a simple word and a gentle touch, ease the stifling sensation. How she would promise me everything was going to be fine; how she made me believe it.

"_Easy, T. You're going to be fine. It's okay" _the words she spoke still echoed through my mind.

We'd been together for two years and it was the first time I had one of my usual panic attacks in her presence. I was still working at Alphaville and I had a major crisis due to my job; she had been there to pull me up. The way she took the helm and guided me through it all had been wonderful. She held me, cradled me. I never felt that safe in my entire life. Whispering soothing words and rocking me, she managed to calm me down.

Feeling safe. That's how I lived the seven years with her. She was my rock but I didn't realize I was hers too. We were two block of stones embedded together. As one of them collapsed, the other one did the same.

Feeling safe had been the thing I'd been craving for when I gave birth to Angelica. My rock collapsed; I collapsed with her. The same thing happened to Bette when I lost the baby. I collapsed; she collapsed with me. What fools we had been, looking for help out of our relationship, not realizing our salvation was within the walls of our love.

As Sigmud Freud once wrote in '_Reflections on War and Death'_: It is really too sad that it may happen in life as in chess, where a false move can force us to lose the game, but with this difference, that we cannot begin a return match.

It took two false moves - one Bette's, one mine - to lose the game.

• • •

Standing on the deck, I finally managed to ease the attack; imagining Bette's sweet voice talking me through it. I shiver as a strange sensation crossed my body. I pull my arms around my own body trying to warm myself up, but the cold sensation reached every deepest corner of my body. She was near. Years ago I would feel a warming sensation each time she was close; today, it was a freezing feeling and it frightened me.

Finally, a car pulled in the driveway and I felt my heart sank. My breath caught in my throat and I couldn't move. I was finally going to see her after six long and endless years. As she got out of the car, she took in the surroundings and then stopped dead in her tracks: she had seen me. Our eyes locked for just a second. She frowned, then diverted her gaze and went straight to the front door without even greeting me. I followed her with my eyes until she disappeared into the cabin, pulled in by Kit's cozy hug.

I can't remember for how long I had been out there for I was too shocked to even remember where I was or who I was. Bette totally, completely avoided me. I shouldn't have been so shocked, after all, I couldn't blame her. Still, the pain was unsustainable. Leaning against the cabin walls, trying to steady myself, for my legs were too weak, I slowly made my way back in. I opened the door and, as an intruder, stepped in. Everyone was around Bette, telling her how they missed her; laughing, hugging and saying some joke every now and then. It was as if I wasn't even there. I felt like a stranger. I caught a glimpse of Angie, hiding behind a door, she must have heard the cacophony coming from the living room... as she saw me entering the house, she immediately approached me and the room went still. The laughter, the voices were gone. Alice, Shane, Kit, Helena... every one of them was looking at us as though they were expecting some kind of magic phenomenon to happen. Then Bette turned around and I was, again, met by the cold gaze I saw some minutes before outside. Her eyes lingered on me, then she looked at Angelica. I felt my heart skip a beat when she showed no emotion. _Not one single emotion_. I instinctively pulled an arm around my daughter's shoulders as I sensed she was getting kind of afraid. Bette's gaze went back to me and in a mocking voice she said: "Oh, right, you're here as well. Hi, Tina" and turned back to our friends. And now I understood what Kit's '_she's okay with you being here_' meant: you aren't here as far as she's concerned.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Mirror

Cheating is not the ultimate betrayal, my mother once told me. The only true act of betrayal in her eyes was to share poetry with someone other than your beloved. Poetry. The most human of the arts. An approach to the truth of feelings, the reflection of the most unreadable souls. Words, letters. A fluid dance, the one of two lovers in the act of lovemaking, merging, matching each other's breath, a one being. Each word followed by another word, closely linked to the previous one. Rhymes produced by two hearts as they culminate in the same tune, their heartbeat the harmonic background, the sounds of their voices, the indistinguishable chant of two bodies binding to one another. Words, letters, rhymes, sounds. The essence of two lovers.

Angelica. Our daughter, the product of our love. The poetry we created together, I shared her with someone else. Words, letters. Their original meaning lost and the harmony our heartbeat produced was now a steady hum. The poet in the throes of a crisis ripped his book pulling everything into chaos as the words followed no pattern, creating an intricate, artfully designed maze. The map to the way out lost. My pair of waxwings helped me to escape Minos, but thrilled by the feeling of freedom and control I flew too high. I fell down as the sun softened the wax. A bright light, at first, then darkness.

Shadows of guilt, fear and sorrows closed up around me as I wandered through my realm of darkness. I kept on walking, landing in the middle of a hall. A mirror in front of me reflected the image of someone I could not recognize. Was that what Bette saw, now? A traitor. The one who destroyed everything that meant anything. I made my own maze; I was my own enemy. The love, the laughs, the happiness. Them all subsiding into a chasm as a tornado of mistakes sucked them all in. I could see a shadow standing behind me, surveying me, picturing the past that haunted me. My image, as visible as it might have been was blurry and unrecognizable, unlike the silhouette standing behind my back, it slowly started to take the shape of someone I knew: Bette. _She _had been haunting me. Each day and each night, in the last six years. She was my past, and she was my present. A perpetual remembrance of the bigger mistake I've ever done, a mistake that opened the door to an even darker future. A smirk formed on her lips as she noticed my troubles and I felt my lungs constrict. I gasped for air, her eyes: they seemed to suck my soul up. Those black and hollow holes, darker than ever, were fixed on me, giving me the creeps, they stung, I could feel a sharp pain crossing my body. I was paralyzed; there was no way for me to turn around, to try to catch my past. It was too far away and that scared me. I looked at my reflection, my face showing the emotions I was going through; affected by the image of the one I loved and then hurt. The curve on her lips turned into an even more evil smile and a noise, something similar to a deafening white noise banging against my eardrums suddenly made me wince, and it was so unbearable I had to cover my ears. I don't know what it was, or where it was coming from, for I was too preoccupied to try to make it stop. It was no use. The pain, I was screaming. I bent down as I was starting to feel my knees giving out, my body emptied of my strength. I gave another look in the mirror and I could see her laughing at my helplessness. My scream turned into a cry for help, seeking for some solace. Then the silence and the dark... again. A nightmare. I had been having that bad dream for years I could not remember when it started, it was, by now, a part of me. Little did I know that the true nightmare was about to happen and it wasn't in my sleep. A nightmare within a nightmare, that's what had become of my life.

From the sweat covering my body, one could think it was a midsummer night. I thanked God Angelica decided to sleep in the room with Kit, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I woke her up the moment I jumped out of the bed as I came out of my disturbed sleep. Pacing and sliding my fingers through my wet hair, I took a couple of deep breaths to steady my heartbeat. One day or another, I was sure, I was going to have a heart attack. I scoffed as I thought it wasn't really a bad thing; that way I would put an end to all that craziness. I left the room to go pouring me a glass of water, not being sure if the scream in my sleep was something happened in real life as well; my throat burned like hell.

I was turning the corner when I almost let out a yelp as I saw Bette sitting at the kitchen table, tapping on her laptop. I looked for a clock, it was three in the morning and she didn't show any sign of tiredness or sleepiness. I stopped in my tracks, as though I didn't want to bother her. Once again, I felt like intruding. My heart sank when she raised her head and looked at me. There they were, those cold and hollow eyes, scanning me. Her glance, reaching not only my exteriors, but my internal being as well. I could have bet someone let the front door open, for a chill overran my whole body, but it was she. Bette, the one who needed to just look at me to make me feel warm, it took her just one glance and I could defeat the Antarctic ice, was now the most gelid of the winds. The blue glow coming from her laptop, the only source of light in the room, gave her an even more sinister look. An Ice Queen.

"I just need a glass of water" I spilled out. Somehow, I felt like explaining my being there. Her eyes still on me, no words coming out her mouth. "Aren't you going to say something?" I let out a nervous laugh.

Her glance went back to her computer as she spoke: "Why should I say something?" her tone flat. Emotionless. Her voice did nothing to allow me some kind of relief. Her eyes, her voice. Two things I used to crave were now two of the most scaring things I've faced in my entire life. Every portion of the Bette I knew hidden who knows where.

I lowered my gaze, as that was the only thing I could do, poured me a glass of water and sat at the table. As much as it scared me, being there with her, I was too attracted to just go away. A moth drawing closer and closer to the light, her weakness, the knowledge of a fatal entounter left behind. The nightmare was becoming reality and the mirror, invisible to my eyes, was showing me the shadow that had been haunting me for six years. Unable to move, I sat there, waiting for the familiar noise to hit me, to make me scream. I wanted to feel something, anything; even if that meant to feel the sharp pain I knew I would feel. The sense of emptiness was worse.

Have you ever been alone in the company of someone else? That's how I felt, that night. I've never been so far away from her as I was right then. An invisible object, there was no light reflecting off my surface to make me visible to her eyes. A sheet of shadows and darkness clouded her sight, I've been the one to stretch it. A transparent surface is what was left of me. The water in the glass before me reflecting my face was the only thing that proved I still existed.

After about half an hour I, finally, got the courage to start talking again "Tell me something" I said. It was not a demand; my voice had a pleading tone. I was going mad. The silence was too noisy. I needed to do something. I needed, I _had to _make her see me again. I wanted to be visible again. She was my light. Without the light, an object cannot be visible.

Her eyes rose and met mine; she said nothing, her expression unreadable. Years ago, I would have known what she was thinking; she would probably raise a brow inquisitively, inviting me to explain myself. She did nothing of the sort, so I went on "How are you?"

She set her jaw, "Fine". Okay, it was still the same flat tone, but it was a start, at least, she was talking.

I did not expect her to ask me the same question, since I knew she didn't give a damn and I couldn't blame her "I heard you opened a couple of galleries"

"Yep" she said as she returned to her tapping.

"Europe, huh? That's great"

"Some people actually think that I'm qualified... and they support me"

I frowned, I knew she was digging at me, I just couldn't figure out what she was talking about, until she added, "You know, I'm happy I took that job at the Whitney. To think I was about to decline the offer. That opened the door to my success. I make plenty of money now"

The tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks that night of six years before were now printed in my mind. She was so excited about the job position and I broke her into a million pieces when she came to understand I wasn't going to leave Los Angeles if they named her the director of the Whitney. _'I love my life here' _had been my words... she went to New York, I stayed in Los Angeles. I _hate_ my life here!

She must have sensed my despair as she showed that same, scary, cold smirk I'd been seeing every time my head hit the pillow. Another cold shiver ran down my spine, I felt like fainting. It was sad how all the things that made me feel the luckiest woman on earth: her smirks, her voice, her eyes, were now a source of sorrow and fear. I emptied my glass, I knew I was not wanted there, the water did little to sooth the ache in my throat, and I let my legs lead me to my room.

I wasn't sure how I managed to reach the bedroom, since my feet seemed rooted to the ground, anyhow, when I finally approached my bed I let myself fall and sobbed. I couldn't help but hope her to come and rescue me, hold me until I fell asleep. I needed to know that apart from the way she was acting, there was still the same Bette I knew, the one capable of freeing me from any fear and pain. This woman - the one _I _created - scared me. _The Modern Prometheus, _someone left alone by the same person that molded him. He only asked for someone who could understand him, but his own creator rejected him, turning him into a monster thirsting for revenge.

• • •

When I fell asleep, that night - or maybe morning -, the mirror had been my mocking friend once again but the real nightmare was the one I had when I woke up.

As I walked along the hallway, I heard strange, actually familiar, sounds coming from the room next to mine. Helena's, maybe? Yes, definitely Helena's, and she wasn't alone. I jumped when I heard a slam against the door, and slowly the banging started to gain a steady rhythm, the sounds louder. I stopped as I could feel my body lose balance. Guilt and jealousy, both of them hitting me at once. Guilt, as I remembered me bringing a man in _our home, our bedroom, _letting him fuck me against the door_. _Jealousy, there's no need for further explanations.

I choked a sob and made my way to the kitchen. My friends, every one of them was there, except for Helena and Bette, something that confirmed I wasn't imagining things. Bette, indeed, was with Helena, trying to tear out the doorframes.

"Hey, TK, you look like shit!"

"Thanks, Al" I rolled my eyes and sat at the table.

"Guess who's having her brains fucked out, right now!" Alice said with beaming eyes, being the gossipy girl we all know she is, "OUCH!" then cried out in pain, as Shane kicked her under the table, giving her a look that said 'shut the hell up!'

I tried to act as though none of that was affecting me; it was! I got up and rushed toward the bathroom, running into Bette, who was exiting the room with Helena, giggling and smirking, as I made my way to the hallway. The sickening feeling stronger than ever, I paled.

"Honey, are you okay?" Helena asked me, but I wasn't listening to her. Ignoring them both, I reached my porcelain friend, emptying my guts of every bit of my rotten soul, letting go of the aching sensation.

I heard a gentle knock on the door as I sat on my heels, my forehead resting on my forearm. My silence did nothing to let the person outside know I didn't want to be bothered. Therefore, Helena came in.

"Tina, hey, God you're shaking, come here" she said as she kneeled beside me, but I wouldn't let her touch me.

"What the hell, Helena?"

"What?" she frowned.

"Oh" I laughed sardonically, "Don't act as though you don't know what I'm talking about"

"She's single, you know" was her response.

And I felt my anger building up, because she was right. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, I had no right to feel angered and it angered me more. The shadow in the mirror was smirking again, sneering. My heart, in her hands, and she was handling it, turning it and pulling it. Whatever her moves were, it would jerk and I could feel my chest ache. If only I could go to sleep right now, and be able to break that mirror, and face the shadow and turn it into light, in order to be visible again.


	4. Chapter 4 - Heartstorm

"Are you scared of the storm?"  
"Yes"  
"You know you're safe, here. The walls of our house are thick, they will protect us"  
"Hold me and ask me again"  
"Are you scared of the storm?"  
"Not anymore"

• • •

Storms always scared the hell out of me since I was a kid. I would go on and on whining, crying, running back and forth across the hallway in my childhood's home; my parents words did little to sooth me. It took years and years to find my real refuge. It was not a building bounded with thick walls, it was Bette's arms. I haven't been scared of a storm since then. She herself was a storm. One of those brilliant, wonderful storms. She could overwhelm me with the force of her winds, caressing me when we made love. Creating ripples that soon became waves of pleasure. We went, we came, our souls parting before crashing against each other, again, when our eyes met in a fulfilling calmness once the whirlwinds of our passion ceased. I learnt to love that storm, in that storm I found my refuge.

A shelter I couldn't find any more when I looked in her eyes, now. I sat at the table, in the kitchen and the overwhelming feeling that crossed my body every time I was near her gave me everything but a soothing sensation and the fear came back. The fortress collapsed. I dropped the bomb that caused it to fall down. I started to panic as I heard the doors and windows slamming for the wind was too strong now it almost made the entire cabin rock. I stood up and ran toward my room.  
In a matter of two seconds, I found myself hidden underneath a duvet, waiting for the end of it all. I didn't know if the noise I was hearing was my breath or the winds outside. I needed to calm myself if I didn't want to die like that. Dying because of a fucking snowstorm, how nice! I heard a loud noise_._A thunder?  
"Tina! What the hell happened?" Alice voice came through the closed door. I soon realized the noise was her fist banging against it.  
"Storms scare me!" was my muffled reply.

"Oh, come on, honey! The walls of the cabin are thick, they'll protect us" she tried to reassure me. Poor woman, if she only knew how wrong those words sounded to me right now.  
"That so doesn't sound right!" I whined.  
"What the fuck is wrong with her?" I heard her whisper to someone else. Kit? Shane? I didn't really care.  
"Baby girl, why don't ya come back in the kitchen? I'll make ya a cup of hot tea and you will forget all about the storm" Kit's sweet voice almost brought tears to my eyes, but I couldn't forget about the storm. I didn't even know which one scared me the most. The one outside or the one inside? I guess I'd go for the latter. At least, the first one could end. Bette was a constant presence in my life, and her calmness, her coldness was even more frightening. A shiver running along my spine was the result of the thought on how scary it could have been, the moment in which her winds happened to blow in their full force.

I don't remember how long it took but, at last, they managed to get me out of my 'temporary' hiding place using Angelica as an excuse. She was asking what was wrong with me and I rushed to her, poor baby she looked at me as I was out of my mind; and pretty much, I was. Screw me! I was making an ass out of myself, in front of everyone.  
"You should take better care of _your_daughter," Bette said as I entered the kitchen. I don't know if it was due to my being anxious at the moment, but I was starting to hate her witty remarks.  
I sat down and huffed, "I hate storms!"  
"The cabin will protect you. The walls are thick" she said matter of factly, and how I hoped I could ask her to hold me, just like I used to do years ago. I wondered, for a second, if she was thinking about the same memory, hoping to see a glimpse of the warmth I was so used to feel. The doorway to the fortress barricaded the exact moment I walked out. The storm overwhelming me from the inside to the way out.

After my quasi-confrontation with Helena, we didn't speak to each other for the whole morning. Sitting across one another, I could see she wanted to talk to me. As a fish out of water, she kept opening and closing her mouth, without saying anything, each time ending with a long sigh. My friends, and Bette, quickly dematerialize as soon as breakfast was over. We were alone and I guess that was the right time to try to get over what happened that morning. What really happened I couldn't understand, actually.  
"I'm sorry about this morning" she finally spoke earning a scoff from me.  
"Are you two all lovey-dovey now?" I could feel the jealousy in the tone of my voice.  
"It's not what it looks like"  
"Well, I can easily say what it sounds like" I replied clearly talking about the sounds they made that morning.  
She sighed, "It's just… complicated"  
Silence.  
She went on, "Tina, I saw a side of Bette that no one here saw. She's been in hell. That's how she acts when things get hard. I tried to talk her out of it but she just can't help it"  
"Oh, so you just go and fuck her in the room next to mine?"  
"_She_goes and fucks"  
I frowned.  
"It's not only with me, Tina. She has been living like this for the last six years she's been in New York. She finds a woman, she fucks her, she leaves her. She never, not even for a second, lets them touch her"  
My eyes widened, "So, you let her use you? Or wait… maybe that's exactly what you want, right?! I know she can be really good at _it_!" I snapped. No, she couldn't be in love with her. That would mean there wasn't any hope left for me.  
"One night," she started saying, ignoring my outburst, "we met in New York, after one of her exhibits and got really drunk. One thing led to another and we ended up in bed together. We didn't expect anything from one another; we did it to numb the pain. I was hurting because of Dylan, she was hurting because of you"  
"So, you're fuck buddies, now?"  
"Kind of"  
"And you like it?"  
"I can't say I don't, it would be a lie"

I took my time to digest what I was hearing "Hel, what hurt me the most is the fact that you let it happened here… with Angie and I being under the same roof as you. You know how scared I was to know she was going to be here. This is really low" I confessed, my eyes welling up with tears.  
"I couldn't stop her" she said.  
"Right, because you like it" I scoffed.  
"No, it's because I _saw_what she's capable of when she's in the middle of a major crisis. As I said, there's a side of Bette no one, not even Kit, witnessed. And believe me you wouldn't want to see what I saw…" I could see she was struggling with something. "But that's not my place to talk to you about this"  
As she said that, she walked out of the room. I knew by now that hidden within Bette's apparent void shell was a new, scary world from which I had been banished.

# # #

Bette could be appalling whenever something didn't go as she wished, or someone tried to state a wrong opinion. She would go on and on, yelling if she thought it was necessary, proving her point and she stopped when she finally managed to win the argument. I lost count of the many remote controls and cellphones that flied across our living room every time an artist was giving her a hard time at work. Those wraths, in the early days of our relationship, scared me, but soon I learnt how to calm her down. Some sweet words and she could become the sweetest person ever and I was lucky to be the one who could witness that side of her. Truth be told, I loved her passion. That fiery, endless passion. A passion that slowly faded away since her father died. It was right before they fired her at the C.A.C. and Angelica Birth was near. She started falling down and I wasn't there to catch her. I actually pushed her further down, leaving her weak soul sink into the abyss of her own fears. I soon realized _I_was her passion. Once I stopped fueling her being, she stopped functioning. She may looks self-absorbed, sometimes her way of acting as an utter bitch was unbearable, but that was her own endearing characteristic. People always thought she was the controlling party in our relationship, little they knew _I_ was. I would, way too often, withdraw into myself without speaking to her for a whole day just because she did something I didn't like. It was my passive-aggressive behavior that controlled her. She would try and try to make things better just so I could _forgive_her and what came after our fights was so fucking mind-blowing. The way she made love to me, showing me how sorry she was, how much she loved me and cared for me. She never, in any kind of way, controlled me. She let me be. The only control she had was on her own emotions and feelings. Once she lost it, I ran away. I needed her to be strong for me, yet I didn't give her the chance to do so. I know now, her unwillingness to lose control of her own actions and thoughts was due to the fear to appear weak in my eyes, she feared my judgment. A fear that became reality after I gave birth to _our_daughter.

I knew her like I know the back of my hand. It took just a glance, a frown, a little gesture to see what she was thinking about. I could easily read her mind, she was an open book, a beautiful, gripping, enthralling story. Things changed, though. She translated herself in a language I couldn't comprehend and the unknown scared me, Helena saw a side of her no one had ever seen, she said. What else could be stronger, scaring at times, than the passion I knew so well?

# # #

"Bette what is it with all this black you're wearing?!" Alice voice broke the silence "I mean, I know you always liked it, but there's not even a little nuance of colors on you. I got to tell you is freaking scary! You look like a Death Angel" the nerve she could have was amusing and unnerving at the same time and I could see Bette was thinking pretty much the same thing.  
She smirked and then adopting a serious tone of voice, she added: "I'm grieving" I didn't know whether she was joking or not, as Alice said, it was scary indeed. A simple, yet twisted reply, which managed to hush Alice curiosity as well. Everyone fell silent.  
We were all sitting by the fireplace and, every now and then, I took advanced of the fact that she wasn't looking at me, to just study her. Now that I thought about what Alice said, and Bette's response I could easily agree with my friend. She looked like someone who's not from our world. The deep signs between her brows were a sign of years and years spent frowning. Her once gold skin was now greyish, her actions detached as if there was no particular motive to do so, inertia was her fuel. A living dead.  
After my quiet contemplation, I noticed Angelica, who just some minutes before was sitting between my legs, leaving her spot and slowly approaching Bette. Just like me, she was inquisitively studying the woman. Something occurred to me and I started to panic, what if she's going to recognize her from my descriptions? She knew about her look alike 'invisible mother', though I didn't really show her pictures, and now that they were close the resemblance between the two of them was palpable. I just hoped she didn't utter a word. Fuck me, she did!

"Are you my mommy?" the once faint silence was now a deathly one. Everyone must have been holding their breaths.  
Bette slowly turned to face her and I could see the frown lines become deeper. She clenched her jaws, "Why would you ask that?"  
"Because you look like me"  
"It doesn't mean I am your mother" her tone cold and sharp.  
"Oh, it's just… Mama once told me that there was a woman who looked exactly like me and that she was my other mommy" Angelica's voice trembled.  
"I guess you got the wrong person" she said, then looked at me and I could feel a grip at the top of my stomach. She stood up and walked away.  
I could see Angie's worried look. Her "Mama I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a bad girl" and the glistening in her eyes almost broke my heart. I quickly got up and followed Bette.  
"Bette! You could at least use a more gentle tone" I didn't know why I was feeling that angry.  
She ignored me and kept walking toward her room.  
"Did you hear me?"  
She turned around and just stared at me.  
"She's very sensible, she's going to beat herself up because of that"  
"I apologize. I would have known if I spent more time with her" the sarcasm in her voice didn't go unnoticed "and for the record you shouldn't tell _your_ daughter about inexistent people, you know"  
"You exist"  
"We've been practically invisible to one another, she doesn't know me, I don't know her. She can't be my daughter, I can't be her mother" she laughed sardonically "Oh wait, I get it, your heterosexual dream didn't work out and now you wanted to try and make things better for _your_ daughter and tell her she has two parents, like all the other kids, just so she won't feel _different,_but normal. _Normal._ Isn't that why you wanted to marry a man, so she could have a daddy and a mommy?" she wasn't yelling. Her tone was placate, low, calm. It was as though she was speaking and not feeling.  
"I told her because you are her mother"  
"And where the fuck was she?" her voice raised now, "Where the fuck was _I_? Aren't mother and daughter supposed to be together? You told me, Tina" that's the first time I heard my name coming out her mouth and it wasn't pleasurable "You told me _you_gave birth to her, _I_couldn't be her mother!"

"I was angry" I shut my eyes, knowing it wouldn't fill the six years gap, "I shouldn't have done it, okay? It happened three years ago. She asked me why she didn't look like me or like her friends. She kept asking me about the color of her skin. I had to tell her. I had to" my voice cracked, "I also tried to contact you, I wanted to make amends, but no one would talk to me. Not our friends, not even Kit. I didn't know how to take a hold of you"  
"That's because I didn't want you to contact me"  
"Even if that was about Angelica?"  
"Especially for that!" she said looking into my eyes. She couldn't actually think that, "I don't fucking care, Tina! It's your choice; it's _your_daughter, deal with it"  
"You are heartless!" I spat. And if I only knew what was going to happen after that, I would happily avoid that slight outburst.  
She grabbed my hand with force, for a split second I feared she could hurt me, but it was nothing compared to what she told me next. And it hurt, it tore my soul apart to see what I did to the woman in front of me.  
She placed it on her chest "Can you feel it?" she asked me, not knowing what she was talking about at first, then I gasped and withdrawn my hand as if it was on fire. Her heart, it wasn't beating, or at least that's how it looked like. If it was, it surely wasn't working properly; it was imperceptible "Exactly! As you may see, you are completely right. I don't have a heart. You ripped it off my chest, six years ago and shattered it. I am dead. My body rejects every kind of feeling. I can't feel anything, not even a single emotion, not even anger"  
Rooted to the spot, I watched as she walked away from me and entered her room. I turned around, I was shaking, my friends shocked. Bette's words still roaming across my mind, the calmness in her voice was the opposite of the force held by her words. The silence was too silent, the storm placated. No soothing sensation overwhelmed me, a sharp pain, instead, in my chest when I suddenly noticed something neither of us did, for the succession of events took everybody by surprise. I shivered and this time was actually because of the cold.  
Angelica was nowhere to be seen, the front door open.


End file.
